Saving the Republic is Such a Chore
by Nurmy
Summary: This is a KotOR novelization, with a red-to-grey Revan! Defined as red-to-grey because, ultimately, this condescending, sarcastic Revan does end up saving the Republic! Some changes to the plot are made and a lot of details are added! Enjoy!  or don't!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Even though I wish I did, I do not own the rights to Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, nor do I have any affiliation with any other similar titles. I wrote this because I helped edit another of the KotOR novelizations on this site (randomtastic7's, you should check it out, it's so awesome! It's called _When Saving the Universe is your Only Option_), and it was a lot of fun!

**A/N:** Hey everybody! I am new to FanFiction, and, indeed, to the concept of novelizations. I was introduced to this place of awesomeness by my friend, Katie, whose novelization of KotOR I helped edit (that's the one I said you should check out, hint hint!). I really enjoyed the story, and her take on it all, and so I decided to give it a shot of my own! I aim to novelize The Sith Lords, and also to perhaps shed a little light on what happens after TSL ends. I can't wait to get started on the rest! Anyway, I'll stop boring you, let's get started!

P.S. Thanks, Katie, for editing

**The **_**Wolfwind; **_**Space; Four Years Ago**

The _Wolfwind_ was arguably one of the most beautiful ships in existence. It was a small ship, its stretched body working with the black and gold paint to give it the appearance of a hornet. When landing on a planet, it always turned heads, almost as if its characteristic gleam was forcing people to turn to their neighbor and say, "Damn, that is one scarily gorgeous ship."

However, it was ultimately for the man to whom it belonged that people screamed. The owner of the _Wolfwind_ was 50 years old, his immaculately styled black hair shot through with dignifying patches of dark grey. He was a smoothly handsome man; tan skin, high cheekbones, and tall build giving him a distinctly noble appearance. The owner of AlphaTech Inc. always walked with his back perfectly straight, always wore a suit and tie, and always looked you straight in the eye.

In short, Juyo Shien was a very powerful man. And very powerful men like very powerful security, because very powerful security tends to stop your head being blown off by a very powerful gun. Which is why the _Wolfwind_ was staffed with eight of the finest bodyguards in the universe – a protective force ranging from Wookiees who had been known to rip apart assassins at close range with their bare hands, to Rodian ex-intelligence officers with the capability of identifying, and subsequently eliminating targets from distances up to 3 miles away.

It was because of this world-class security that Juyo Shien was very relaxed. He took in the plush interior of the space ship from his recliner, his eyes passing over his own dark wroshyr-wood desk, set in the middle of the room, flitting to the massive HoloScreen set up on the grey wall to the right, glancing over the green and black spotted carpet, and finally stopping at the security station, situated to the left.

"Anything?" he asked the Twi'lek managing the ship's radar, a green-skinned ex-soldier called Naveen Pataudi.

"No, sir," Naveen purred, always wanting to impress the boss. "Skies are clear."

"Excellent. I'll be going to the bedroom, and I do _not_ wish to be disturbed."

"Very good, sir," obediently replied the Geonosian leader of the team, a wizened bug called Haddis Poggle. Poggle had been working for Shien a long time. The pay was great, and, with the millions of credits their paranoid charge spent on security systems and equipment, the job was comically easy. His translucent wings fluttered as he bowed to the retreating figure, the gesture being the Geonosian way of showing respect. That didn't stop him however, from joining in the crew's collective exasperated sigh as soon as the door to the bedchamber slid shut. They had been in space for only a few minutes, and already their boss was retiring. His age was starting to show. Shaking his head, the Geonosian settled back into his chair, brown exoskeleton jarring a little as he overestimated the distance. Returning to his previous task, Haddis immersed himself in the cleansing of the crew's ranged weaponry. This was a chore he liked performing himself – Haddis was known to be meticulous in these kinds of things, and he didn't want to find his sonic blaster exploding in his hands because some idiot forgot to clean the barrel. And so Haddis cleaned everybody's weapons – a win-win situation.

However, he was interrupted ten minutes later by a mysterious noise. _Thunk_. The sound of a muted impact reverberated through the ship.

"What was that?" asked the Twi'lek, stupidly staring at the ceiling as if the answer might suddenly appear there.

"I don't know," sarcastically replied Haddis, accompanying his response with a mock welcoming gesture towards the radar, "_Maybe_ you should check?"

"All clear," Naveen snapped, irritated at the gall of the oversized bug.

"Well, then there's nothing to worry about, is th-," Poggle's scathing reply tailed off when a circular section of the ceiling dropped in, followed by a small, round, black object.

"_Grenade_!" he shouted, taking cover behind his chair.

However, this was not a normal grenade. It was a concussion grenade, creating a mini-supernova in the middle of the ship, if the light and noise were any indication. A light brighter than Tatooine's three suns, and a sound louder than a thousand cave shyracks pervaded the ship. Incapacitated, and essentially immobilized, the crew were left to flounder in their temporary blindness as the flashbang removed their sense of balance.

Fortunately for them, the effects were short-lived. Their hearing and vision shortly returned, revealing a man clad in a black, tight-fitting body suit with a matching black cape standing beneath a circular hole in the ceiling. At the other end of the hole, the interior of another ship was visible, apparently having attached itself via ship-to-ship boarding system. The intruder, having already quickly assessed the situation, was striding calmly towards the bedroom. His vibrosword gleamed evilly as it slid out of its sheath with an audible _ssk._

"Get him!" growled a Wookiee member of the party, a 9-foot tall female called Chancharrr, charging the would-be assassin with her vibroblade.

The man turned around. _No subtlety_, the Geonosian groaned, inwardly facepalming at the Wookiee's lack of strategy. _No matter, she should be able to handle it._ Leaning back, Haddis prepared himself for the inevitable spray of blood as the Wookiee delivered a vertical slash strong enough to cleave a Gamorrean in half. However, the intruder was faster than he seemed. In the blink of an eye, he had sidestepped the fatal blow, and with all the elegance due to the action, cleanly decapitated the Wookiee. Not even waiting for the body to fall, the man immediately switched focus, moving towards the three bodyguards lying under the HoloScreen.

Stunned as they were by the black-clad figure's survival, the elite bodyguards were cut down before their weapons had left their sheaths. The remaining four, still alive simply because they were on the other side of their boss's massive desk, finally got up and drew their weapons. Unsure of what to do, they glanced to Haddis for instruction. "4A." the wizened bug declared, the simple statement being a code word for a maneuver they practice often – they would split up, two around each side of the desk, and attack the assassin simultaneously, aiming to catch him between their blades.

They found no such luck. The intruder calmly leapt over two of his would-be killers, stabbing one in the back, and slicing the arms off the other in a series of graceful movements. Quickly switching targets, he watched, smirking, as the two remaining bodyguards stepped back from their diced comrades.

The bodyguard leader quickly glanced to his side to see who had survived the lightning-quick assault, and was surprised to see Naveen standing beside him, feather-staff pointing outwards. The Twi'lek was a new addition to the group, his arrogant demeanor constantly making him a target for jibes. However, in the face of death, all differences were settled, and so the two shared a final look of comradeship, the reflected blood from the floor making their eyes seem demonic in the bright interior lighting, before turning back to the assassin. The moment over, they both charged the black-clad figure, shouting in their own native languages, aiming to run him through with their weapons.

Unfazed by this show of courage, the assassin, once again displaying an astounding feat of agility, neatly sidestepped the pointy stampede, using his sword to decapitate the Twi'lek as he blindly rushed past. Haddis stopped running, looking behind him to see Naveen's head bouncing on the floor before stopping with a sickening, slippery _scree_. Switching his gaze from the murdered to the murderer, Haddis was appalled to see a smirk spreading on his face!

Anger at this stranger's lack of respect flooding through his system, Haddis flew at the man, sticking his sword out directly in front of him, hoping to impale him. Caught off guard by the insect-like dart, the intruder barely moved out of the way, the sword managing to take off his hood. However, even in that state of panic, his reflexes had managed to deliver a fatal blow to the Geonosian, using his own momentum to impale him on the vibrosword.

Staring back at this seemingly invincible angel of death, Haddis saw a young man, his pale white skin a marked contrast to his jet-black hair. However, most startling were the eyes. He saw in their inky depths not passion, not anger, not fear, but sadistic amusement. The wizened bug began to wonder who in the world could have taken on eight of the universe's best bodyguards singlehandedly, and laughed it off. Of course, he never finished the thought, the last thing he saw being the assassin's characteristic smirk, and then, blackness.

Looking around at his handiwork, the young man unceremoniously slid his vibrosword out of the Geonosian's body. Grimacing slightly at the bloody mess it was covered in, he briefly debated whether to wipe it off on the bug's clothes before deciding against it. He had one more target on this ship. Entering the plush bedroom, he found Mr. Shien cowering beneath a blanket, as if hoping that if the prey couldn't see the hunter, the hunter couldn't see the prey.

He took a moment to appreciate the beautiful décor. Fitted with soft interior lighting, the blue walls somehow perfectly matched the viridian king-sized bed in the middle. Shaking his head at the waste of credits, he decided to get down to business. Imitating the Geonosian accent, he called out in Geonosian, "It's all clear, boss".

Visibly relieved, Mr. Shien lifted the blanket, only to be confronted by a black-clad figure with a malevolent gleam in his eye, and a sword in his hand. His eyes widened as he realized that the sword was covered in blood – evidently all that remained of his "elite" bodyguards. "How did you get in here?" he asked, panic making his voice crack.

The assassin's eyes shown with pride as he boasted, "My ship has a custom ship-to-ship boarding mechanism. I outfitted it with a plasma torch to silently cut through the target's hull."

"But how come our radar didn't pick you up?" exclaimed the incredulous human. "It's state-of-the-art machinery!"

"Oh, please," dismissed the figure, shaking his head as he did so, "My ship is equipped with an invisibility cloak. It's composed of many tiny reflective metal surfaces, such that any light coming my way will be deflected backwards. If you were a physicist, you would probably understand this as something similar to an Einstein ring. But you're not," he continued, sneering as he started approaching the terrified businessman, "and you're not going to have the time to become one."

"Please," begged the corporate giant, now on his knees, "I'll give you anything! Money! Power! Wome-." He did not have time to finish the plea, the last thing going through his head being a vibrosword sharpened to perfection.

Satisfied that the mission was complete, the assassin left the ship, pausing only twice on the way out: once to toss a timed permacrete charge into the fuel bay, and a second time to disgustedly use the carpet to wipe his vibrosword of the multi-coloured blood that covered its surface.

**Spaceport Docking Bay 3B; Coruscant; Present**

The morning of the _Endar Spire_'s scheduled departure was a perfect one, the bright sun's rays bouncing playfully off the white and orange hull of the spaceship, and the temperature in the hangar set to comfortable warmth. The ship was ahead of schedule and ready to go – its crew of 1,200 soldiers, 400 battle droids, and its crates of supplies all having been brought on board. However, none of this went through Captain Carth Onasi's mind as he shook his head frustratedly at the obstinate figure standing at the top of the boarding ramp.

"Padawan Shan, I must respectfully disagree. There is no point in passing _Taris_ on the way to join the fleet. It's a Sith planet! We could incur multiple losses in what is guaranteed to be a pointless battle. There's no shame in avoiding conflict!"

The figure in the tan, tight-fitting bodysuit seemed unaffected by the captain's advice. "Captain, I understand you're worried, but let's review the situation for a second." Her well-meaning words were belied by her sarcastic tone. "The Jedi Council placed _me_ in charge of this mission, did they not? I thought they did. So how about instead of standing here and arguing with me about my orders, why don't you carry them out instead?"

_Why me?_ despaired Carth inwardly, angrily brushing the few misplaced brown strands of his immaculately styled hair out of his eyes. Once more, the Captain was reminded of why he hated working with Jedi. The one standing in front of him was a perfect example of their typical arrogance – standing tall, and exuding an air of confidence with every move, the irritation on her face turned it all into a textbook expression of superiority.

"Listen, Padawan Shan, I understand you're the key to the Republic war effort. Your Battle Meditation skills have turned the tide of many battles and saved many lives," acquiesced Carth carefully, as he knew that one wrong word could cause her to completely shut him out, "but you need to start listening to people who have more experience. This is your first mission, it isn't mine. _Use me_, for God's sake!" Looking for a way to lessen the tension, he finished his calm tirade with a joke. "It will make you more favorable with the troops, if nothing else."

He miscalculated, however. "Are you saying that the troops dislike my method of commanding, _Captain_?" The threat implied by the extra emphasis on his wrong seemed almost physical, as if the title made him the person at fault. The decorated war hero took in a breath to deliver a snappy reply, but someone beat him to it.

"No, Bastila, he's saying that they dislike _you_."

Both figures whirled around, searching for the source of the unexpected noise. They finally alighted on a young man dressed in casual black clothes, though with the unusual addition of a black cape hanging over his shoulder. The casual look, however, was ruined by the deadly vibrosword hanging on his belt. His black eyes bespoke amusement, though the hint of a sneer on his face showed it to be anything but good-natured.

Captain Onasi, years of soldiering making him react on reflex, subconsciously registered the combination of the sword and the strange clothing, all senses yelling to him "_Threat!_" He immediately took out his blaster and shot, aiming for the unexpected arrival's head. However, before he could complete the gesture, he suddenly found the stranger five meters closer, pushing his blaster-hand upwards, redirecting the blaster bolt so that it flew away harmlessly.

"Captain Onasi, stand down! He's with me!" Bastila yelled before Carth could attempt to cause more damage to her visitor.

Not quite satisfied, Carth nevertheless put away his blaster, but not before giving the young man a look-over first. Pale skin, black hair, he seemed nothing out of the ordinary. Dismissing the incident, Onasi simply assumed that the man had been closer than he'd originally thought. "So who are you, anyway?"

"This is my-" Bastila began.

"My name is Will Sabriel, and I am going to be one of _Padawan_ Shan's," he said, giving the title mock grandeur, "civilian advisors. I would appreciate you not attempting to turn my face into molten flesh; it tends to make hellos a lot more pleasant." He said, finishing that last sentence with a wink. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going to my chambers."

Carth turned a questioning look toward his superior, as if to ask, "Who was that guy?" Bastila only deigned to shrug before answering, "He's my advisor. Now, we should depart. We will continue this conversation tomorrow, Captain Onasi. Make sure you remember which one of us is commanding this mission when we do. Dismissed."

**Bridge; **_**Endar Spire**_

"I'm not arguing with you about your orders, Padawan," snapped Carth, his calm composure finally starting to show some signs of strain at the ineptitude of the Jedi commander, "but I have been brought aboard this mission as a tactical advisor. And as such, I believe it is my duty to _advise_ you not to send our men to their deaths!"

They had just spent the past 3 hours seated around a holographic display of the galaxy, debating whether to stop to repair the ship's destroyed weaponry. Some Sith battleships just off the surface of Mygeeto had ambushed the _Spire_, and, even though the battleships were eventually destroyed, they had managed to cause some serious damage. _Three of the four double light turbolaser batteries, the two medium turbolaser batteries, and one of the point-defense laser cannon batteries_, Carth inwardly grimaced. _Translation: we're sitting ducks!_

"We've gone _over_ this, Captain Onasi," Bastila frustratedly replied, massaging her temples. "Waiting for the weaponry to get fixed might take days! We certainly do not have that time to spare. The Republic fleet may be attacked at any time, in which case my Battle Meditation may be of assistance."

The Chief Technical Officer, an Ithorian man who served on the _Spire_ for many years, discreetly rolled his eyes. "Padawan Shan, the Republic Space Fleet has enough firepower to last it a few more days without us. In the meantime, your Battle Meditation won't be of any use to _anyone_ if you die on the way there!" He took in a breath to add more, but was interrupted by the Chief Navigation Officer, a short green-skinned Rodian known for his logic. "At least allow us to leave Taris, ma'am. The planet has countless nasty things, all of which can blow up our ship without the additional weaponry!"

Bastila was about to respond with something along the lines of "No" when someone yelled, "We've been pulled out of hyperspace by a tractor beam!" A tense few seconds passed; the ship seemed to be holding its breath. The _clacks_ of the keyboard's keys were the only noise as the man checked who it was that assaulted them. "It looks like-li-like the _Leviathan_!"

You could have heard a credit drop. The _Leviathan_ was the Sith flagship, Darth Malak's personal ship. And it was here! Carth Onasi closed his eyes for a moment. _I haven't forgotten, Saul. I'm going to make you pay for what you did. _The CNO was the first to overcome the initial shock, yelling in his authoritative military voice, "EVERYONE TO BATTLE STATIONS!"

The call seemed to shake everyone out of their reveries. The officers departed the table, grim expressions on their faces as they determined to overcome the impossible task before them - survive. That is, everyone but Bastila. The inexperienced Jedi sat at the table, staring a thousand miles away into nothing. _I've doomed us all_, she was mentally repeating to herself. _I've doomed us all, I've doomed us all, I've do- What the?_ She looked up to see Carth violently shaking her, his brown eyes burning with anger.

"You say you're the commander of this mission?" the transformed figure yelled. "Well, get out of your damn seat and_ command._"

She responded immediately to the berating, forgetting in the heat of the moment that Carth had actually _touched_ her. She took out her comlink, quickly dialing an extension in before shouting, "Tell Ensign Ulgo to get Will, _NOW!_"

**Quarters 13A;**_** Endar Spire**_

As the first blast's shockwave rolled through the ship, Will Sabriel immediately rolled out of bed, years of experience kicking in as he took advantage of the scant cover behind the low, blue frame. In a heartbeat he brought up and pointed the miniature blaster pistol he kept under his pillow at the door. Taking a few seconds to examine the still unfamiliar interior of the room, he stood up. Confident that he wasn't about to face the awkward scenario of being shot in his underwear, he assessed the situation. _So I'm on a Republic ship… which sounds like it's exploding. Not something I look forward to. What could be caus- Oh. I remember. When I came onto the bridge last night to collect my assignment_, a slight grimace as he remembered the mounds of paperwork she had assigned,_ they were debating whether to avoid Taris to fix the guns. I guess that idiot of a Jedi said no_.

However, his train of thought was interrupted as he heard footsteps outside the door. Acting quickly, he rushed to the side, aiming to surprise his attacker as he came in. Adrenaline flooding through his system, he waited until the tall, white-headed, well-muscled man was inside the room before aiming a kick at his legs. Time seemed to slow down as Will brought up his gun and aimed it at the falling stranger's head. Starting to pull the trigger, he noticed the man's red and gold armor, the realization that he was a Republic soldier coming almost too late. Unable to stop the gun from firing, he jerked his aim to the side, and watched, relieved, as it hit the ground next to the man's head instead.

"Who are you?" he barked, still keeping his blaster aimed at the soldier's head.

"T-T-Trask Ulgo," stammered the terrified soldier, "I'm your b-bunkmate."

"Then how come I've never seen you before?" Will threw back, suspicion clear in his eyes.

"We work opposite shifts!" Trask, over his initial shock at his near-death, was able to reply a little more eloquently than before. "Now, a Sith Battle Fleet has pulled us out of hyperspace! The Leviathan herself is attacking us! We need to report to the bridge immediately, and to defend the _Endar Spire_ from these Sith scum!" He stood up, clearly reassured that his roommate wasn't about to turn his face into a miniature volcano.

"And, why, pray tell, would we do that?" innocently asked Will, intending to mess a little with the ensign. "Why shouldn't we just hop in an escape pod and go to the planet below?" His efforts were rewarded as the ensign's jaw became best friends with the floor.

"Are you serious?" Trask, apparently having forgotten how close his face was to becoming central heating, was outraged. "We need to protect Bastila, she's the commander of this ship, and your superior!"

"That stuck-up, arrogant Padawan? Why should we risk our lives for her?" Will tried to hide the grin on his face, instead trying to make himself seem angry. "She's one of the worst commanders I've ever had the 'privilege' of serving under, she doesn't listen to her advisors, and, worst of all, she made me analyze 200 different conversations last night, _despite_ the fact that a robot could have handled the job in half the time."

"We all swore an oath when we joined this ship," he stepped close to Will, their faces barely centimeters apart, "to protect, serve, and defend the Republic at all costs. Now, I know you're a civilian, but you swore that same oath," he spat. "So are you coming, or do I have to drag you there?"

Will couldn't hold it in anymore. He burst out laughing, tears streaming down his eyes as his deep laugh reverberated through their shared quarters. "You should have seen the look on your face," he said in between gasping breaths, "Don't worry, Trask, I'm a professional. I was just messing with you." Trask was simply standing there, mouth hanging open in a silent "O" of astonishment.

Shaking his head, as if to clear the cobweb of confusion in his mind, Trask turned slightly red, realizing that he had been the butt of a joke. "Well, if your game is over," he harrumphed, trying to save some dignity, "then let's get go! They need us at the bridge as soon as possible." Trask started toward the door when Will cleared his throat.

"Ahem. Forgetting something?" he asked sarcastically, indicating his own half-naked body.

"No, wh- Oh." His face now completed its transformation to a tomato, the sudden realization that he had been about to force his bunkmate to fight in his underwear stealing his eloquence once more. "Well, uh… Why, uh… don't you get dressed? There are, uhm… some clothes in that.. er, footlocker over there." He pointed awkwardly towards the grey box in between their bunks.

"Thanks," Will's tone was still acidic, but now carried an undertone of amusement. "Fighting in your underwear _does_ tend to be a tad difficult." Trask, wisely, chose not to respond, opting simply to remain silent, looking like a sullen statue as the colour of his face dropped to match that of his armor.

Opening the indicated footlocker, Will gazed at its contents, dumbstruck. "What the hell is this?"

"What?" replied the soldier, careful to keep his gaze pointed away from his semi-naked bunkmate.

"They call this clothes? Whatever happened to _armor_?" Will wished he had his black robes, but, sadly, he had been ordered to toss them away. _Apparently_ they set people off. Indicating the tumor-shaped backpack, he asked incredulously, "And what the _hell_ is that thing on the back? Do they think I'm some kind of astronaut?" Steeling himself for what was sure to be an embarrassing experience, he gulped before outfitting himself with the given attire.

Finally dressed, Will slipped his blaster into a holster at his hip, preferring his trusty vibrosword in the close-quarters of the ship's corridors. "Let's go," he said quietly. He went to open the door, but for some reason it refused to budge open. Irritated, he turned to his bunkmate, angrily asking, "Ahem, Trask? Why is this door not opening?"

"Oh, uhm, the ship goes into automatic lock-down mode when boarded to limit the invader's space. It's really quite an effective system, as it forces the enemy to-" He stopped blabbering at Will's glare. "Don't worry, I've got the codes!" Will's glare took on death-ray intensity as Trask just stood there. "Trask?" Will asked innocently.

"Yes?"

"Unless you want a repeat of what happened when you came in here, I _suggest_ you open the damn door."

Trask, graphically remembering how it felt to see the business end of a blaster pistol, practically ran to the keypad stationed midway in the door. Three seconds later, the door hissed open, revealing the empty corridor beyond. Well, empty of humans anyway.

Will's trained eyes quickly took in the droid to the left before shifting to the rest of the corridor, which appeared to be empty. Beckoning to Trask, the duo slipped ahead, Trask's loud footsteps a marked contrast to Will's barely audible footfalls. The pair reached the door at the end of the corridor, once more to find it locked. "This door has been electromagnetically sealed..." Trask Ulgo began.

"Hey, Captain Obvious?" the irritated Will Sabriel interrupted, "I'm not Sidekick Self-Evident. Spare me. Can you open it or not?"

"… However, thankfully, I've got the security skills to open electromagnetically sealed doors." Trask finished. He once more made his way to the door as Will started ranting. "No wonder the _Endar Spire_ is being overrun, the defense systems here are useless. They lock the soldiers in their own rooms... Why didn't I get the code, by the way?" Trask was about to answer, but Will pressed on, apparently not actually caring. "Then they seal the doors that would help those soldiers save the ship. Doesn't quite make sense, but, whatever."

He trailed off as the door opened, revealing a lone Republic soldier standing in the middle of a carbon-scored hallway, facing off against two Sith soldiers. Both parties were spraying blaster bolts, which hit seemingly everywhere except their intended target. _Why are you standing in the open? _Will wondered incredulously, _find some cover, you idiot._ However, apparently his wish hadn't been heard as one of the Sith's shots finally found its mark, killing the soldier instantly.

Planning to stage an ambush, Will took a position by the side of the door closer to the soldiers, expecting to kill them as they came through the doorway. Trask, however, had his own ideas. "For the Republic!" he yelled, as he ran through the doorway, somehow arriving at the conclusion that by repeating the other soldier's actions, he would have more success. Wondering if the Republic's training standards were high enough, Will rushed to save his bunkmate. Trask, incredibly, managed to shoot one of the soldiers before getting shot in his left shoulder, the only thing saving him from a fatal head wound being his bunkmate kicking the offending soldier in the stomach, causing the poor victim to bend over before decapitating him.

Trask made to move on, but a silent gesture from Will stopped him. "What are you doing?" he asked his comrade as Sabriel took some grenades from a soldier's pocket. "Asset denial," Will said simply, taking a medpack and some credit from the other soldier's belt, "They don't need it, we might."

"But… they're dead, that's disrespectful!" Trask was once again outraged, his apparently defective memory making him forget that he was shouting at the man who just saved his life.

"And unless you want to be too, you'll let me use this medpack to patch up your shoulder." To Will's ears, Trask's complaints had about the same value as verbal vomit. "Or do you want to bleed to death?"

Suitably chastened, Trask silently submitted to Will's ministrations, who finished his work by jovially declaring, "Oh, and, by the way, if you shout at me again, it might occur that I will be too late to save your life. Again. Understood?" His roommate gulped, paling a little as he resolved as to be more mindful of whom he was shouting at.

The duo moved on, passing through a doorway to watch a scene unfold before them. A Sith squadron of 6 soldiers was mowing down Republic troops as they stupidly ran from their protected position at the silver-armored individuals. The universally inept ensigns seemed rather intent on breaking the Guinness Universe Record for biggest mound of bodies (Malachor V held the current record). Trask, predictably, ran to join the fight, but, this time, Will was prepared, catching his arm and pulling him backwards before he became interior decorating. "Are you crazy?" Will hissed.

"What else am I going to do? They're killing our soldiers, it's our duty to stop them!" Trask's incessant patriotic spiel was starting to get on Will's nerves. He took out one of the fragmentation grenades that he had pilfered from the dead soldiers. "Ever heard of one of these?" he asked sarcastically. "They tend to come in handy when trying to take out lots of people without getting your head blown off. Here, knock yourself out."

He gave it to Trask, who pulled the pin with a vengeful grin on his face. Holding the grenade in his hands for a second so that it would detonate immediately upon landing, Trask lobbed the little ball towards the clump of soldiers, ducking as soon as he did so. They immediately started shooting at the spot his head had just vacated, but, unfortunately for them, that didn't quite save their lives. The frag grenade detonated, sending shrapnel in every direction, going through armor, flesh, and bone. In short, the soldiers were mincemeat.

"Better," instructed Will, "but, next time, remember you have a _blaster_. That means you take cover and shoot. Leave the fancy close-up stuff to me, ok?" Trask nodded enthusiastically; apparently they didn't teach common sense at the military academy. As his partner made to loot the bodies, Trask opened his mouth to complain, but then, remembering that the grenade that had saved his life was "recovered", instead went to help with the task, his face turning a sickly shade of green as he saw the corpses' shredded bodies up close.

When they finished their task, the two Republic soldiers made their way to the bridge. Noticing the apparent absence of frantic commands, or even blaster fire, Will realized that the bridge had been taken over by the Sith troops. "Trask, I want you to go behind that crate over there, and cover me with your blaster," he commanded. "When I open that door, I want you to shoot at any Sith soldiers you see, ok?"

Trask, having realized that his partner was a lot more experienced than he was, obeyed, quietly shuffling along behind the indicated crate. _Good boy_, Will thought. _Ok, one… two… three!_ He opened the door, immediately throwing himself behind a console to avoid any incoming blaster fire. A heartbeat later, red blaster bolts followed as Trask let loose with his blaster pistol.

The soldiers reacted quickly, spreading out among the consoles to make themselves smaller targets. _Five soldiers_, Will counted, surprised. _Only a single squadron to take out the bridge of a Republic ship?_ Signaling to Trask to take the two on the right, Will took a moment to plan his assault. _Ok, so there are three soldiers ahead of me. One's on the other side of this console, and two others are about two meters to his left._

Taking a quick breath to calm his racing heart, he exploded into action. Turning the corner, he kicked the nearby Sith trooper, the unexpected force of the attack making him fly into his two comrades. Taking advantage of the soldiers' confusion, Will jumped at them, slashing a soldier's neck and stabbing another in the chest faster than an eye could blink.

The last soldier, having seen how quickly his friends were cut down, put down his blaster and placed his hands behind his head. "Please, sir!" he begged, "I have a family, a wife, kids! What will they do without me? Let me live, please!" Unmoved, Will didn't even deign to stab him, walking behind him as if letting him go, he smirked as the soldier's shoulders drooped in relief… and then turned around and broke his neck.

Looking ahead, Will saw that Trask had managed to kill both Sith soldiers. _Not bad_, he mentally amended, _perhaps Republic standards aren't _too_ low._ Turning to congratulate his comrade on two clean kills, he saw one more Sith soldier behind Trask, the back of his head reflected in the trooper's silver armor as he aimed a gun at it. Evidently, this one had been smart enough to circle around at the first sign of trouble. _Stupid,_ he berated himself, _Sith squadrons have _six _soldiers, not five. _Not having time to warn his partner, Will drew his mini-blaster with his left hand, aimed, and shot. His aim, of course, was true: the soldier had only the time to do one thing before dying – a keen observer would have heard a soft exclamation of "schutta" escape his lips, before they were reduced to ash.

Trask, having the reflexes of a dead cat, only just now rolled out of the way, the _thud_ of the body hitting the ground coming slightly before the impact of him hitting one of the work consoles. Even from across the room, the ensign's gasping breaths were audible. Smirking to himself, Will started making his way to his partner, intending to assist with his private heart attack.

However, when he got there, he saw that not all was good. "Oh, crap." Will let out a soft whistle at Trask's injury. The soldier had a foot-long hole along his side, the affected area completely blackened, and the surrounding skin already turning an angry shade of red. Shocked, Will simply stood there, remembering a similar scenario, long ago, until one of Trask's pained groans shook him out of his reverie. "It's going to be ok," he whispered to his dying comrade, "we'll get out of here yet." _I won't mess this up again_.

Seeing the profound pain in his partner's eyes, Trask realized that a little humor would not go unappreciated. And so, he winked. "Let's show these Sith bastards, eh?"

Will smiled and lifted the ensign, wrapping one arm around his shoulders to support him as he walked. "Now, seeing as the bridge is clear, that must mean that Bastila and whatever remained of the crew have already abandoned ship. So I _believe _that it is time to head for the escape pods, before we get blown to smithereens." _The medpack will have to wait until we're on the way to Taris_, Will decided,_ there's no time to waste._

"Yeah," joked Trask, "I've got a dentist appointment next week that I cannot miss!"

The duo ran out of the bridge, heading towards the starboard side of the ship, where the escape pods were located. However, considering Trask's injured state, perhaps a three-legged hobble would be a more appropriate description. The soldier's condition was getting worse with each meter travelled. By the time they reached the corridor linking the port and starboard sides of the ship, he was sweating profusely, and his breathing was coming very raggedly. Things really couldn't get much worse.

Or, perhaps they could. The door in front of them opened, revealing a dark Jedi in the room beyond, shiny bald head a contrast to his dark grey robe. However, most of their attention was taken by the double-bladed lightsaber at his waist. A malicious grin spread on the corrupted Jedi's face as he regarded his prey, taking a moment to savour their fear before moving to sate his bloodlust. Trask, however, was a little bit faster. Jumping to the keypad controlling the door, he frantically entered a code. The dark Jedi, realizing what he was doing, only had time to send a bolt of lightning at the ensign before the door shut, electromagnetically sealed.

However, that was all it took. Trask fell to the ground, his breathing short and rapid as his convulsing chest tried unsuccessfully to take in oxygen. Will, acutely remembering his earlier threat, rushed to his friend's side, the cold, professional side of him noting the severity of the soldier's injuries. Opening a medpack, he started taking out a dose of morphine when a hand closed the box. "Save it," Trask choked out, "you'll… need it..." a hacking cough shook through his body, "much more than me."

Speechless, Will could do nothing but watch as his comrade took one last breath, shuddered, and was still. _Not again, _Will lamented, remembering why he stopped being an assassin. Ever the pragmatist, he moved to take some materials from the body – a few grenades, a blaster, some medpacks. However, when he looked up he saw Trask's eyes open, their empty, glassed-over gaze following him, accusatory, as if Trask disapproved even from beyond the grave. Taking a moment to close his eyes, Will placed the newly acquired materials in his pack and walked away.

Moving on, Will found a lone soldier around the next corner. Grim lips set in a line, his mood was bettered by the prospect of exacting a little revenge. And so it was that a soldier and his head were left in his wake, the blood spurting from the body covering the floor in a slick, slippery surface. He was entering the following room when he received a message.

"This is Carth Onasi on your personal communicator. I have been tracking your progress using the _Endar Spire_'s life support system. You are the last surviving crewmember on board. Bastila already abandoned ship, jettisoning her escape pod to the planet below. There's only one pod left, but I can't wait long! Now that Bastila's escaped, there's nothing stopping the Sith from making us just another cloud of space dust. Watch out, though, there's a whole platoon of Sith troopers in the next room. Good luck, Onasi out."

_Great. A platoon. Let's have some fun._ Will looked around him, eyes finally alighting on a broken battle droid. Replacing some broken parts, he watched as the droid, now in patrol mode, strode courageously into the Sith-filled room, first taking down one, then two, then three Sith soldiers… before exploding, the sheer volume of blaster fire directed at it causing a literal melt-down. Inwardly groaning at the prospect of facing 5 alert soldiers in a tiny room, Will came up with an idea. Moving, once again, to the side of the door, he imitated the voice of the trooper he killed on the bridge. "Please, sir! I've got a family, a wife, kids! Let me live!"

Preparing himself as he heard one of the soldiers inside cry out, "That was Anakin!", Will smirked as three of the troopers rushed to save their "comrade", only to find themselves staring at the business end of a vibrosword. Two of them were cut down in a heartbeat, the final one only having time to let out a brief scream before his air was cut off – along with the rest of his head. Giving the two remaining men inside no time to react, Will rolled in, and smartly so, as the stream of plasma from the soldiers' weapons went sailing high above his head. Using his vibrosword, he cut through the soldiers' knees, eventually dispatching the two of them unceremoniously with blaster bolts to the head.

He passed through the room into the escape pod bay, where he found Carth Onasi waiting. "There you are, finally. Come on, we've got to get out of here!" the captain pushed as he made his way towards the escape pod. They jumped in, Will only just managing to secure his seatbelt before they blasted off. Good timing too. Will sent off a quick nod of gratitude towards Trask Ulgo's corpse as it was incinerated in the _Endar Spire_'s explosion.

However, he had no more time to think as the pod hurtled through the planet's atmosphere, becoming red as the friction from the outside heated the escape pod. Looking outside the viewport he watched as the ground came closer and closer, realizing only just before impact that he should have assumed crash position. He would regret the mistake when he woke up, a monster headache created by the large amounts of trauma caused by both sides of his brain hitting his skull. Or, in simpler terms, his head hitting the pod wall.

The pod hit the ground, smashing into the Tarisian street before bouncing up again and stopping inside a massive statue just outside the Sith military base. Carth, realizing that his fellow passenger was knocked out with a concussion, removed his charge's seat-belt and carried him out from the pod, racing away towards a nearby apartment block before the Sith could capture them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the rights to Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, or any of its affiliate titles. I simply write this for my development as a writer, and for the entertainment of others.

**A/N:** Hey everyone! We now begin with the boring planet of Taris! Hopefully, I will be able to turn this dreary section of the game into something actually entertaining. Enjoy!

Will felt a hand stroking his cheek. Whoever's hand it was had a light, soothing touch, the sensual contact eliciting a shudder as Will's body responded to the intimacy. He held his breath as the almost wraithlike sensation moved from his cheek, to the rest of his face, and then progressed to cover his entire body. Curious to see whom this mysterious person was, the ex-assassin opened his eyes expecting to see the face of a beautiful girl, but, instead, was quite surprised to find himself surrounded by a dense, grey fog. Shocked into sobriety, he quickly stood up, snapping his head back and forth as he tried to orientate himself in the apparently endless layer of mist. Noticing his heart was on the verge of exploding, he forced himself to calmly release that first breath he had been holding. However, when it became time to inhale once more, the fog forced its way in, burrowing deep down his throat and setting fire to his lungs. His eyes widened as his chest exploded into an inferno of pain; he clamped his mouth shut, hoping to stop the mist's effect. But it was too late. Will fell to his knees, seizing as the pain became worse and worse. _You idiot. Did you think that random women stroke you all the time? _He mentally slapped himself, physically doing so obviously not quite an option. Finally, he passed out as his oxygen-starved brain shut down; his last, degraded thoughts turning to, interestingly, what Trask would think of him, before collapsing into nothing.

He was awakened by a wall of noise. Bricks and mortar made of lightsaber clashes and alarm klaxons filled his ears. Despite the rude awakening, relief washed through his system when he realized that the poisonous fog had dissipated. _What the hell was that?_ He wondered, perplexed. However, his inquiry was interrupted when a familiar figure suddenly appeared in front of him. _Interesting look, Bastila_, he mentally appreciated, noticing the bloody cuts in her tan bodysuit and the fierce expression on her face as she expertly twirled her single-bladed yellow lightsaber.

Realizing she wasn't alone, Will blinked in surprise as the Dark Jedi against whom she'd been fighting suddenly appeared out of nowhere, dark-grey robes and customary black hood giving the warrior a menacing aura. Seeing Bastila take the opposing man through a complicated sequence of blows, Will expected the man's head to come off at any moment. However, each of her darting stabs was redirected. Each lithe stroke was parried. Each sweep was stopped. It was as if the Dark Jedi was surrounded by a blood-red wall of pure energy. The Jedi's robes flared as he dealt a minor cut to Bastila's leg with his own sanguine lightsaber, quickly slipping past her defenses.

Visibly angered, Bastila seemed to give up on finesse, her strikes losing their complex grace and fluidity; instead, she unloosed a lightning-quick barrage of heavy strokes. Surprise, then panic, entered the Dark Jedi's eyes as he began being pushed back, his desperate blocks only just managing to stop the deadly yellow arcs of Bastila's weapon. He hastily brought up his weapon horizontally above his head, just in time to stop himself from being cleaved in half, and was forced almost immediately to parry a devastating sweep aimed at his ribs. In the end, he was just too slow – her lightsaber dashed in and instantly cooked his heart as it penetrated his chest.

Bastila sighed, subconsciously taking a small measure of satisfaction from the man's painful death before shifting her focus elsewhere. Will tried to get a better look, but instead of seeing Bastila's new target, he found the angry grey fog rolling in on itself, waiting for him once more. Desperate to avoid the awful, choking sensation, he shut his mouth, but to no avail. The malevolent cloud forced its way through his nostrils, leaving a path of flames in its wake. Knowing what was in store, Will fought harder this time, desperately coughing as he tried to empty his lungs of the toxic substance inside. It was futile. As he fainted once more, a small measure of peace flashed through his body, acting like a bucket of water before a forest-fire, as all became blackness, and the fog, and its pain, receded.

**Empty Apartment; Upper City South; Taris**

Will awoke feeling as if he had just come out of a lukewarm swimming pool. The layer of sweat covering his well-muscled body glistened as he sat up in his bed, his hand slipping under his pillow to search for his mini-blaster before he remembered that he was no longer on the _Endar Spire._ Taking in the room's grease-stained, faded blue walls, the dusty navy carpet and the ever-present footlocker in the corner, Will's eyes shifted to the sleeping figure on the floor. _Chivalrous_, he sarcastically commented in his mind.

Deciding that he'd had enough laziness, Will jumped out of bed. However, this proved to be a mistake, as the room suddenly started spinning. The colours of the room blended together to form one solid blue landscape as Will fell over. The disoriented assassin reached for the bedpost, but missed, instead tripping and knocking his head on the bed's cheap plasteel frame. "Ow!" he cursed, a sound punctuated by the muted _thunk_ of his head hitting the carpet.

"Ah, so you're finally awake! Though perhaps it's a bit early to leave your bed." Will's noisy fall had apparently woken Carth up. The grizzled soldier was now standing above the assassin, hand stretched out to help him up. His stubbled mouth was pointing slightly upwards as Carth grinned to show that he was teasing. Angry that the soldier had seen his moment of weakness, Will ignored the proffered hand, instead using the bedpost to slowly help himself stand.

Shrugging noncommittally, Carth withdrew his hand and continued. "Regardless, it's good to see you finally up. You've been thrashing about in your bed for days." Will's eyebrows rose as Carth elaborated. "It must have been one hell of a nightmare. One moment, you'd be alright, but the next, you'd be seizing as if somebody was running an electric current through your body. I was beginning to worry that I'd rescued you for nothing! Anyway-"

Will quickly interrupted, incredulous, "What do you mean, "rescued"? What happened after we landed?"

"All in good time, all in good time," Carth said, mock-cryptically. "When our escape pod hit the ground, you fell unconscious. Luckily enough, though, the pod wasn't too damaged, so I was able to kick out the door without that much difficulty. With that done, I pulled you out and carried you to this apartment block. These quarters appeared to be abandoned." Carth gestured to the room's sad-state of affairs. "And with good reason. When we got here, it looked like a mynock had been using this place as a nest."

Chastened, Will had the grace to apologize to the soldier. "Well, it seems that I owe you one. Sorry for snapping at you, Carth." The soldier nodded, accepting the apology. Deciding that it was time to move on to practical matters, the assassin asked, "So, what can you tell me about Taris?"

Carth winced a little. "Taris isn't the nicest place in the galaxy. It's composed of three layers: the Upper City, which is where our pod crashed, the Lower City, and the Undercity. And, to be honest, in that regard, it's a lot like an onion. The more layers you peel away, the more you want to cry." Carth's voice thickened with disgust as he elaborated. "The Lower City has virtually no policing, so the gangs run everything. The Undercity itself has been basically abandoned. The living conditions there are one of the poorest in the galaxy. It's infested with all forms of disease and pestilence."

"So we're not on the best planet ever, but it's not that bad." Will remarked, eyebrows rising. "I've been in worse spots in my career."

Carth shook his head sadly. "That's not all. The planet is occupied by the Sith, who have placed it under martial law. No ships are allowed in or out. Which means that we're on our own – the Republic can't come to the rescue."

Will sighed. _Why couldn't I have kept my mouth shut?_, he mentally complained to himself. "So have you come up with any plans to get out?" he asked the decorated war hero.

"Well, step one is to find Bastila. We'll need-" Carth began.

"Woah, woah, not this shit again!" Will interjected. "Why do we need to look for Bastila? She's a Jedi, I'm sure she can take care of herself!"

"Listen, Bastila is a wanted Jedi on a Sith planet," Carth said lowly, anger rising at Will's obstinacy. "Darth Malak will stop at nothing to get his hands on her Battle Meditation skills. The entire planet is probably searching for her!"

_Which is hardly going to help us get out of here_, Will sarcastically thought, and was about to share the selfish sentiment when he saw Carth's hand subconsciously drop to his blaster. Will had learned over the course of the career that this was a reflexive action, typically indicating that someone was about to violently lose it. It manifested itself in a cracking of the knuckles, a tightening of the hands on a sword hilt, or, as now, simply increased proximity to the weapon. _Turning his face into plasma isn't going to get us anywhere, and Bastila's use of the Force may come in handy._ _Besides, I don't really feel like cleaning up molten flesh again._ Raising his hands in a gesture of defeat, he acquiesced, "Alright, we'll hunt for Bastila. Do you have any ideas where her pod landed?"

Carth visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping as he let out his pent-up breath. "Well, she hasn't been found yet, so her pod couldn't have landed in the Upper City." The soldier's voice lost its aggressive edge as his mind returned to practical matters. "Which means our first step is to find a way into the Lower City."

"Well, we're not going to find anything out around here, are we?" Will's excitement at finally doing something was audible. "We've got a Jedi to hunt down!" The two comrades left the room, the automatic door's loud _ssk_ a marked contrast with the tense silence outside.

"Hands in the air, you alien scum!" barked a sloppily-clad, red-faced Sith officer. The short, fat man was supported by two white battle droids, their menacing gleam matching that of the man's large blaster rifle. "This is a raid! Hand over all credits, armour, and weaponry!"

The two Duros whom he was addressing seemed annoyed at the man's arrogant tone. One of them stepped forward and said, acidly, "Why are you raiding us, good sir?" His voice was thick with sarcasm. "We are but good citizens of Taris and the Sith Empire. We would _never_ consider carrying anything harmful to its causes!"

The officer simply stood there, stupidity visible in his eyes as the Duros' sarcasm went over his head. "Uh…" The man took out a handkerchief and uncertainly wiped at his sweaty face, as if that would clear the fog in his head. "Well, fine then! Carry on!" The Sith turned around and started walking away, stomach jiggling as the sudden movement turned his legs, but left his considerable girth behind.

The two Duros shared a bark of laughter at the thickness of the soldier's figurative head. _Clearly not the sharpest knife in the drawer_, Will sighed to himself. However, the Twi'lek with whom they'd been trading had a slightly different reaction.

"Hello, Captain!" The green man grabbed the soldier's arm. Seeing him turn around, the Twi'lek straightened and jovially declared, "My name is Larrim, and I am a trader around these parts, specializing in energy shields."

The officer's beady black eyes radiated suspicion; the alien's jubilant nature something different to what he was used to. "What do you want?"

"Nothing much, Captain." Larrim seemed to not notice that the man was actually a just a Private, as he seemed to say the incorrect rank as often as possible. "Well, you see, _Captain_, I overheard the Duros in the red jumpsuit laughing at you, and," Larrim's tone implied that if he had eyebrows, he would have raised them, "I can't stand to see such an important person so disrespected!"

The soldier's face turned almost pig-like as he simply stood there. Finally, he gasped as the implications sunk in. Snapping up his blaster rifle, the man angrily growled, "Die, alien scum!" The corridor took on an eerie red light as the private clumsily sprayed blaster bolts in seemingly every direction than that of the Duros before finally hitting one five seconds later.

"Now! That's how we Sith deal with smart-mouthed aliens!" The soldier's posture radiated smugness as he turned and pointed his rifle at the Duros's companion. "Give me all your credits, and I'll _consider_ letting you live!"

Will had seen enough. Springing into action, he flicked his vibroblade out and into the nearest battle droid. It had no time to react to the lightning-quick assault, its software apparently not having backup protocols for a sword to the chest. Sparks exploded out of the ruined chassis as Will fluidly pulled out the weapon, turned, and neatly decapitated the droid's partner.

Turning to deal with the officer, he was surprised to find him on his knees, hands raised in surrender as Carth pointed a blaster in his face. Tears streamed down the soldier's face as he considered the scene before him. "I-i-i-I give in! Just l-l-l-let me g-."

"Pathetic." Carth spat, underscoring his opinion by liquidating the coward's face.

_Interesting_, Will thought to himself, before exclaiming, "Didn't know you had it in you!"

"Men like this," he spat, indicating the pile of molten flesh before them, "disgust me. They flaunt their power, abusing others to satisfy their inner insecurities." The grizzled soldier seemed to melt as the tension went out of his limbs and pooled in his eyes. "They're unreliable, leading you to trust them before turning around and destroying everything you hold dear." Carth murmured something afterwards, but too quietly for Will to hear anything beyond "olkar".

_Olkar…?_ Will began puzzling, but was interrupted as the janitor droid barged into him in its diligent attempt to remove the carbon scores from the non-descript turquoise-grey walls. "Good work, little buddy," commended Will, bending down to pat the yellow, trash-can-shaped droid on the head.

At the sound of Will's voice, the other Duros stopped what he was doing, which was, namely, repeatedly kicking the smoking corpse of the Sith soldier. Beckoning with his large, blue-grey head, he motioned Will and Carth over to his compatriot's corpse. "Poor Ixgil," he said in Durese, his sonorous voice aimed at no one in particular, "he wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for that slimy Twi'lek, Larrim."

Hearing his name, the green merchant, who was still standing where he was before the violence started, stopped staring at the carnage wrecked by the Republicans and realized just what kind of enemies he may have just made. Giving his lekku a slight shake, Larrim started tiptoeing away.

Meanwhile, the Duros turned his multi-faceted, vermillion eyes on the two off-worlders. "Thankfully you were here to step in."

"It was our pleas-" Carth stepped forward, but stopped as a red blaster bolt passed within an inch of his ear, the incredible heat of the plasma singing his goatee as it flew down the corridor. Reacting on instinct, the Republic soldier executed a panicked roll, only just registering the cold of the floor marble before turning around to see Will holding his smoking blaster.

_When the hell did he get that?_ Carth inwardly swore, dusting the jacket obscuring his faded red-and-gold armour as he got to his feet. "What the _hell_ was that?" The grizzled war veteran was understandably shocked.

"Relax," Will replied, using the blaster to point down the hall. Outside the door of a room, the Twi'lek merchant could be seen, his vibrant green skin a marked contrast to the single black blaster burn on his head. "He was getting away."

Carth could feel his heart begin to stop sprinting as the terror of the moment ebbed. He had one question to ask, however. "How did you take my blaster without me noticing?"

Will winked. "A magician never reveals his secrets." After returning the aforementioned weapon, the dynamic duo turned to leave.

"Ahem. As I was about to say, don't worry about the bodies, I shall dispose of them myself," the Duros murmured to himself, seeming more curious about the nature of his two rescuers than concerned about Sith reprisals.

With such stupid officers, who could blame him, really?

**Upper City South; Taris**

Taris. The name of the city conjures up all sorts of images and definitions: a bourgeois city with a uniform shades-of-blue colour palette, a magnificent planet-wide megacity filled with towering skyscrapers, a cesspit full of rich, drunk nobles, and dying peasants, a centre of popular culture, a backwater rock that should have been violently reduced to space dust, and so on.

None of these descriptors, however, went through Will's head when Carth and he left the apartment block. _Fresh air…_ Both Republic agents took a moment to appreciate the change from recycled, epitomized spacecraft oxygen to the nitty-gritty scents of a real, urban population centre. The familiar mingling of sweat, hovercraft carbon monoxide emissions, Corellian firewhisky, and stale hotdogs was at once both overpowering and lulling. Carth took a moment to bask in the brilliance of Taris's shiny, sprawling cityscape. Noticing the dryness of his mouth, he thought to himself, _I could really go for a drink right now._ Ignoring the disturbingly strong temptation, he uttered five terrible words.

"So, what do we do?"

Will cracked a grin at the question. _So much trouble, in such a small package. _ "Well. I was thinking that, especially given recent events, neither one of us is in perfect shape. If we're going to be taking on, say, the entire Sith population on Taris, we need to amend that." Carth smiled at this, but the assassin simply continued talking, apparently not noticing. "That means we need to find some sort of healer, maybe an apothecary. This _might_ be difficult, as I'd expect the Sith to have cracked down on these people especially.

Carth burst into laughter, pointing at a certain run-down building directly behind Will.

Curious, Will turned around, and, reading the sign, felt his face go red.

Zelka Forn – Licensed Healer and Apothecary

"Well, then," Will was at a loss for words, "that was easy." He waited for Carth's chest to stop convulsing before moving forward. However, he didn't go very far before feeling a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, Will, do you mind if I ask you something?"

Will turned to look at the grizzled veteran, raising his eyebrow.

Carth's voice had replaced humour with confusion, the lilting pace of his speech granting him an almost childlike tone. Indeed, even the brightness left his eyes, as he seemed to look at something thousands of miles away. "I've been going over things in my head, and none of them add up. How come we were surprised so easily? How are we even here to talk about it? Everything's just one big puzzle."

At this, the soldier came back to the present, flicking his head at Will like a frightened animal. His brown eyes sharpened to knives as he continued in an acidic tone. "And so are you. It's just a _little_ surprising that you're still here, given that you were a last-minute addition, Bastila's little _special request._" He seemed to spit out the last two words, as if they contained all the death and putrefaction in the galaxy.

_Oh, the irony_, Will groaned inwardly. Placing his hands on his hips, he stared into Carth's eyes before slowly asking, "Are you suggesting _I_ had something to do with the battle?"

At the pointed glare, Carth became rigid for a moment, and then seemed to deflate. "No, I guess I'm not."

"Good," said Will, before turning on his heel and briskly walking towards the infirmary. "Then again, maybe I do need some practice in picking up molten flesh," he muttered under his breath.

**Zelka Forn's Healing Centre; Upper City South; Taris**

As the duo walked into the clinic, Will quickly scanned its interior. _Plasteel cylinders all over the place, not good for cover as they tend to explode when shot, console in the corner, maybe good for electroshock treatment, grey walls shiny-clean, floors the same, shady looking man in the corner. Seems like every other clinic._ Indeed, it even had the sterile smell of industrial-strength antiseptic that pervades hospitals. Even though there was little chance of an assassin being here (himself excluded), hard experience, as well as simple common sense, told him never to let go of such habits.

Scan complete, Will shifted his attention to the elderly, dark-skinned human standing in the centre of the room. The man's hair, wherever he had any, was shot through with grey, giving him a certain wizened look… And then he started talking.

"Hi! My name is Zelka Forn; I'm the medic around these parts. What can I do you for?"

_He sounds like a kid!_ Will resisted the urge to break into laughter as Forn's disturbingly soft, yet high-pitched voice etched itself into his mind. Deciding the best way to survive the ordeal was by getting through it as fast as possible, he stepped forward. "Hello, Dr. For-"

The childlike doctor quickly interrupted, breaking into a wide-mouthed grin as he corrected, "Just call me Zelka, off-worlder! No need for stiff formalities!"

"… Dr. Forn," Will continued, regardless, earning a pout. "I… er… bumped my head today, and was wondering if you'd take a look."

"Sure! Just sit on that bed over there and I'll take a look."

The treatment was quick. The doctor, after poking the assassin's head a couple of times, took out a long-needled syringe and expertly injected kolto into the afflicted area.

"There! Right as rain! Or, perhaps more appropriate to certain planets, as right as sulphuric acid! Just stay out of fights from now on." Zelka Forn wagged his finger as he laughed at his own joke, studiously not noticing that everyone else in the room was silent. Sobering up, he turned to Carth. "Now, to deal with pric…"

Dr. Forn simply stood there, apparently re-enacting every cartoon ever made as he stared open-mouthed at the undercover Republic soldier.

"Yes?" Carth raised a bushy eyebrow at the unexpected pause.

"Y-y-you're a Republic s-s-oldier!" the momentarily inarticulate doctor stammered, before taking a step back towards the wall behind him.

Carth and Will glanced at each other tensely. Nodding to each other, they both placed their hands on their weapons, the assassin making sure to loosen his vibroblade in its scabbard. Menacingly, he growled, "What makes you say that?"

The naïve doctor didn't realize the implications of answering the loaded question. "Underneath your jacket! The armour! It's made of Republic colours."

Will and Carth chorused a groan. _How could we overlook something so obvious? It's a miracle we haven't been arrested yet_.

Carth was the first to speak, "And we assume you'll be wanting money to keep this information secret?"

"No, no! You misunderstand!" Zelka Forn seemed to hesitate a moment before turning to push a button on the wall. As he did so, the wall simply receded, revealing a room full of occupied kolto tanks. Immersed in the tanks were well-muscled men of average height. "These are all Republic soldiers. I've been taking them in ever since the battle above started."

The grizzled veteran visibly relaxed as he saw some of his friends in the tanks. Stepping forward, a single tear slowly crawled down his face as he approached the nearest one, whispering his name under his breath before repeating the act with the next soldier in the semi-circular arrangement.

Will, on the other hand, had a completely different reaction. _We'll have to kill him_, the pragmatic assassin realized. _He's too naïve, too open-mouthed. We could've been Sith intelligence officers simply wearing Republic colours, and everything would have gone wrong. Eventually, someone will come in, and he'll tell them of the two Republic soldiers he saw. It won't take long before they put two and two together._ Taking a small, circular metal object from his pocket, he knelt down and stuck it to one of the plasteel cylinders, pressing a button on its surface as he did so.

He straightened himself to see Carth, voice thick with gratitude, shaking the doctor's hand. "For the safeguarding of these men, you have my thanks." Zelka Forn seemed felicitous at the gratitude, his face beaming as a child's does after receiving a much-wanted toy.

"Honestly, it is my pleasure. And, don't worry about the payment. On the house treatment!"

Wanting to get out as soon as possible, Will strode forward to shake the man's hand. "Thank you, it is much appreciated." Since keeping up appearances was important (being arrested for murder wouldn't help them find Bastila), the assassin made sure to walk out of the clinic unhurriedly.

The two partners, having completed stage one of their not-yet-existent plan, moved slightly away from the medical centre.

_Good enough_, Will thought to himself as they slowed to a halt. _Though this may sting just a little. _Turning to face Carth, he reached behind his back, fingers searching. The soldier, excited at the prospect of having found his comrades, seemed very happy as he contemplated the rest of their quest. "So, what do we—"

His sentence was interrupted as a massive fireball erupted from what had once been Zelka Forn's Healing Centre. A _whoosh_ could be heard from miles around as the barothermically generated explosion sucked in air for fuel, the sound mingling with the sound of hovercar alarms, as well as windows breaking as the generated pressure wave cracked every pane for 300 meters.

The explosion carried the soldiers off their feet, sending them flying back several meters before their bodies came to rest. Since he was expecting the detonation, Will was the first on his feet, just in time to catch Carth from running into the gaping inferno. "No, Carth! There's no point in going in there!"

The war-hero snapped his head around to look at Will. He was barely recognizable, as the soot from the fireball had turned his hair and goatee a faded black, which, combined with the wildness of his eyes, to give him a feral look. "Let me go," he whispered hoarsely, dropping to his knees.

Will could see that the main danger was past. Regardless, he shook his head. "No. You'll die if you go in there. Besides, we need to get away before the authorities get here. Bad stuff will happen if they find two Republic agents next to a bombsite."

Carth seemed about to resist, but then, he was a primarily pragmatic person. He saw the sense in what the assassin was saying. Giving the burial place of Zelka Forn and his comrades one last look, grasped Will's forearm once, giving it a tight squeeze before turning around and leading their way out of the gathered crowd.

**Upper City South; Taris**

The shell-shocked duo proceeded through the streets of Taris without much guidance, simply intent on putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the blast zone, be it physical or emotional. Half an hour later, they finally stopped, electing to simply stand and stare at the exquisite orange sky as Taris's sun set. Indeed, the beatific surroundings lent everything a sense of unreality, a certain feeling that they were trapped in a hologram, puppets of a dark force neither one of them was aware of.

Shuddering at something more than the cold that was settling over the city, Carth turned to face his comrade. "Alright," The mood gave his voice a strange timbre, such that it sounded almost as if he were reciting a prayer. "So, while that may have been a giant flop, what do we do now?"

Will took a moment to think before replying, looking up, as if he was trying to find inspiration in the clouds. Finally satisfied, he looked at his partner and intoned in kind, "The plan doesn't change, even if you require new armour. We still need a way into the Lower City." He paused for dramatic effect before adding, "And I know just how we're going to do it."

Carth raised an eyebrow at the audacious statement. Cracking a smile at the assassin's confidence, he indulged him. "Just how is that?" he asked with mock curiosity.

Will motioned the soldier closer. "We," he said conspiratorially, "are going to ask someone."

Carth rolled his eyes. "Right. But who do we ask that won't simply give us away?"

"How about_ them_?" replied he, indicating a group of three people in an alley: an old man, a trandoshan, and an aqualish.

In answer, Carth simply started walking towards the trio. However, as the pair got closer, Carth got the sense that things weren't as they seemed. He moved from side to side as he walked, trying to get a better look, but the aliens' backs blocked his view.

Then he heard the conversation.

"Davik says you missed your last payment," the trandoshan growled menacingly.

"Davik doesn't _like_ you missing your payments!" threatened the aqualish.

The old man snivelled, searching through his pockets before holding out his hand pathetically. "Here! I've got 50 credits right here! That's a down payment! That will buy me some time, right?"

The trandoshan looked down at the measly pile of credits before knocking them out of the man's hand, spitting in his face as he did so. "All or nothing! Davik can't be letting people off their debts, that's bad business." A shift of his body revealed that the trandoshan was holding a viciously sharp quarterstaff, which he proceeded to wave in front of his victim's neck. "And you're no exception."

The old man started crying as he begged his antagonizers. "But I don't _have_ that much! How can I give you credits I don't have?"

The aqualish laughed. "I guess you can't. You'll just have to come with us." At this, he started spraying blaster bolts in the man's vicinity. However, it appeared he was more intent on decorating the wall behind him, as none of the bolts actually hit the grovelling man in front of him

Will had seen enough. He sprinted the last few meters to the thugs before burying his vibroblade in the back of the aqualish's throat, smirking as the alien's blue blood spilled on the alley floor. _Amateurs_, Will thought to himself as Carth buried several bolts of plasma in the trandoshan's chest. _Their lack of training is appalling. Maybe they went to the Republic academy._

The old man stared, horrified, at the carnage around him. Indeed, it was quite a sight, the blood of the two aliens mingling to create a disturbing, multi-coloured soup. Worse than that, however, was the smell of singed flesh; a stench so overpowering it made one want to gag.

Carth bent down to grasp the man's shoulder. "Are you ok, sir?"

The old man shook his head slowly before turning to look at his saviours, gratitude plain in his eyes despite the bloody mess surrounding him. "Yes… I think so," he drawled. "Thanks for interceding, whoever you are! By the way, my name is Darman."

Will winked. "Hey, it's our job as citizens, right?" Then his voice turned serious. "However, in return for saving your life, we need something from you." Carth snapped his head around to his partner, about to berate him for taking advantage of the situation, before remembering their original reason for approaching the trio.

Darman nodded vigorously, eager to help these mysterious strangers who had stepped in to save his life. "Anything, anything!"

Bringing his voice to a conspiratorial whisper (experience showed civilians are more likely to co-operate if they believed that what they're doing is similar to what they've seen in the HoloCinema), Will leaned closer. "We're trying to get into the Lower City, do you know of a way?"

The nearly-fried old man thought for a second, brightness leaving his eyes as he sank into contemplation. However, that light soon returned. "There's an elevator," he revealed excitedly, "not far from here, actually!" The duo shared a look, relieved at the sudden break of good luck.

"But it's guarded at all times by Sith soldiers," Darman continued gravely. "To get in, you'll need to have some of their armour."

A tense silence dropped. _Schutta._ Will allowed himself to swear once, before shrugging noncommittally. "Oh well. We never thought it would be easy."

Now, Darman must have somehow been related to Zelka Forn, as he also then chose that moment to point at Carth's armour. "Hey, you're with the Republic!" he exclaimed, apparently proud of his observation. "Boy, wait till my friends hear I helped some _Republicans_."

The assassin felt as if he'd been doused with ice water. _Oh, not this crap again._ Carth, realizing the gravity of the situation, tried to reason with the man. "Now, listen, sir, you can't tell-"

However, he stopped talking as the old man screamed. Will had drawn his vibroblade with lightning-quick precision and place it right in front of Darman's throat.

"Be quiet!" Carth snapped at the old man before cautiously turning to face his partner, "What are you doing…?"

Will placed a little pressure on his sword, drawing a trickle of blood from the man's throat before answering in a low tone. "We can't leave any witnesses, Carth. You know that."

"Please!" Darman didn't seem to realize the irony of his situation as he once again begged for mercy, "You don't have to do this! I wont tell anyone, I swe-" However, the man didn't have time to finish his sentence, as Will withdrew his sword momentarily… only to swing it around and decapitate the man.

"My God!" Carth shouted as the poor victim's head rolled along the ground with a disgusting, wet sound. "What did you do that for?" Carth was angry. _Really_ angry. "The man _even helped_ us, for heaven's sake!"

Will shook his head sadly, his mind still reeling at how easy it felt, how _natural_, when his vibroblade disconnected Darman's stupid head from his body. "You heard him just as well as I did," he said softly, "He was going to tell someone sooner or later, and then we would have been in real trouble."

The war hero spat. "He said he wasn't going to tell anyone. Did you really think he would betray us like that?"

"No, I didn't," Will's voice took on an edge as he tried to reason with the veteran, "But we can't take that chance. You know that. No matter what he _says_, eventually he'll get drunk, or forget, or get beaten up again and then one of his buddies will hear about us. _That_ won't help Bastila, now will it?" Sensing that his partner's defences were about to give away, he firmly concluded, "So he had to be eradicated."

It was at that point that something clicked for Carth. Something about the word _eradicated_ brought images to his mind; sights, sounds, and emotions. _Eyes concealing a certain tension, mind-numbing pain as a wave of heat rolled over him, darkness eclipsing light as a chilling realization overcame the flames, a hand on his shoulder as he tried to jump into the inferno, a logical argument in a world of chaos_. "_You._" The Republic soldier accused coldly.

Will was taken aback at the sudden change of topic. "Me?" He regretted that innocuous word as soon as it left his mouth, as Carth drew his pistol and aimed it at the assassin's head.

"You set off that explosion." Carth's voice seemed to be composed of frozen hydrochloric acid as he delivered the charge.

Reflexes made him consider several retaliatory options, all of which culminated in his partner's death or permanent injury. For obvious reasons, he dismissed all of them, finally choosing a road that was intrinsically unfamiliar to him. Taking a deep breath before proceeding, he admitted, "Yes, I did."

The atmosphere between the two could probably have been cut with a very blunt butter knife. Fortunately for the Republic, such utensils had long ago fallen out of use, as had butter. "Why would you _do_ such a thing?" The Republic hero's blaster shook violently as he returned to his shouting. "He healed you! He was fostering _our brethren._"

Will didn't back down, knowing that that would be a mistake. Instead, he looked Carth straight in the eye as he solemnly countered, "You saw how quickly he reacted to your armour. We could have been literally _anyone else_, simply wearing Republic colours and his entire operation would have been given away." The assassin's words were as hard as sledgehammers, and, indeed, their effect was similar as he continued. "And so would we. You must understand. Our mission takes priority over the wellbeing of one simpleton doctor we've only met once."

At this, Carth looked at him differently than ever before. Or rather, looked _through_ him. It was as if Will didn't exist, the war-hero's eyes blankly registering the object in between them and the environment behind. For that is what he had become – an object. It was with such a mind-set that Carth delivered his next words. "I know who you are, Will Sabriel," he said expressionlessly, "You're a parasite. A creature leaching off everyone you come in contact with. You bring death to those around you, sucking their life for survival, without shame or consequence."

Will simply stood there as Carth's words hit home. The assassin disconnected from reality as the faces off all those who died for him appeared in front of his eyes, some whispering accusations in his ears, while others shouted their castigations. Different words said by all, in multitudes of language; all versions saying exactly the same thing: _you killed me._ Then Trask's face appeared, as he was before he died, only needing a cold nod to pass his own recrimination. _You killed me._

The assassin fell to his knees, immersed in his own despondency, not noticing as Carth turned on his heel and left.

**Cantina; Upper City South; Taris**

Carth sighed as he downed his fifth glass of Kuatian ale, only sparing a small thought for the loss of his 37 days of sobriety before ordering another one. Looking around himself, he groaned in disgust. _What am I doing here?_

Here, was, of course, a shady cantina, creatively named by its owner, "Cantina". It seemed like a well-to-do joint; a shiny Wroshyr wood bar attested to that fact. However, a closer inspection revealed that the dull blue paint covering the walls was in dire need of a fresh coat, and the tables themselves were covered with so many dried spills that it was almost impossible to guess their original colour.

The Republic hero, now smartly changed out of his armour and in a nondescript combat suit, looked around the cantina, as if hoping one of the guests would have a sign with inspiration on it. Indeed, that wasn't _quite_ so, but close.

_Woah, ok_, Carth inwardly exclaimed as one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen randomly sat on him. "Hi there," she casually started, as if what she was doing was normal, "I haven't seen you around here before. You must be an off-worlder! By the way, my name is Sarna." Certainly, that was what she meant to say, but she was rather drunk, and so what she actually said probably sounded something like, "Hi thur, eyhav nt sin yoooooooooo arrrrrround heya befaw!"

Even though he understood her, the soldier was too tongue-tied to respond immediately, and so a small silence ensued as she got up and sat down next to him. Maybe it had something to do with her long, flowing, chestnut brown hair, or the brilliance of her caramel eyes. Eventually, he managed to get out a reply. "I'm Carth," he mumbled, "I've been stuck here because of the battle."

"Yeah, sorry about that!" Sarna giggled, a high-pitched sound somewhat akin to the tinkling of wineglasses. "We didn't mean to cause this much hassle!"

Carth raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, _we_?"

"Can't you tell?" she asked incredulously, "I'm a Sith officer!"

As if to make her point, she stood up and saluted him. Or, rather, tried to, as her lack of coordination resulted in her slapping a nearby waiter droid, soliciting another giggle from herself. "Sarna – Junior Officer First Class with the Sith Occupation Force reporting for duty, _sir!_"

By this point, Carth had regained his eloquence. "Well met, J.O.F.C. Gorgeous," he joked, returning her mock salute.

"You know," Sarna puzzled after having properly sat down (and dealt with another giggly fit), "I'm surprised you're even talking to me at all. It's like everyone I meet here is in a permanent bad mood."

"Yeah, the locals haven't been much fun to me either," he winked, his eyes flitting over her body as he did so. "But you have to make the most of it! Keep your spirits up, you know?"

Sarna grinned mischievously as she caught the not-so-subtle action. Sidling up close to him, she leaned in. "I _like_ your attitude, Carth," she whispered in his ear, the smell of Tarisian ale plain on her breath. "Follow me." Two simple words, each laden with its own set of emotions and promises.

Naturally, he did.

**Outside Sarna's Apartment; Upper City North; Taris**

The Republic veteran carefully shut the door to Sarna's luscious apartment as he left it. _A successful night_, he lasciviously congratulated himself, as he reviewed recent events. _A talented girl, indeed,_ he decided, _a wonderful catch_. Taking a few more moments to bask in his own glory, he finally started tiptoeing away.

However, despite his romantic "conquest", he derived the greater part of his happiness from the little cloth bag attached to his belt. Inside, carefully wrapped so as to make as little noise as possible, were two sets of Sith soldier armour. Carth triumphantly grinned as he recalled his hushed exit. His quick feeling of satisfaction as he tiptoed towards the door in the dark apartment, the confidence that Sarna wouldn't wake from her drunken stupor, caution as he avoided stepping on the myriad bottles of alcohol on the floor, and, finally, the surprise as he almost walked into two hanging sets of Sith regulation battle armour, one of which was presumably a spare. He had debated whether to take the second, but, head still buzzing with ale, decided he could forgive the assassin.

And thus he had secured their entrance into the Lower City. _Hm… maybe Bastila will decide to reward me similarly_, he cackled. _But first, we'll see just how far this lucky streak of mine will go!_

Deciding to re-enact previous circumstances, the drunk veteran returned to the cantina, hoping that that would provide him with the same result. Indeed, as soon as he entered, he once again scanned the room, looking to see if some other equally gorgeous woman was on her way to sit on him.

Then, looking to his right, he completely sobered up; shock overriding his intoxication as he saw Will get stabbed repeatedly.


End file.
